Learn to Live Again
by BeMyOnlySuperman
Summary: After losing her boyfriend to a accident that happened two years ago that she still doesn't remember, Bella meets Jasper and her life begins to become better until she starts to remember the accident and what really happened.


A/N: I don't own The Twilight Saga; Stephanie Meyer owns it.

Learn to Live Again

Full Summary: After losing her boyfriend to a accident that happened two years ago that she still doesn't remember, Bella meets Jasper and her life begins to become better until she starts to remember the accident and what really happened.

All Human

Hope you like the first chapter(:

One thing. If you have time to do a story alert, or a author alert... you must have time to review.

* * *

Preface: Two Years Before

I opened my eyes. A persistent machine beeped rhythmically to my left. I looked to my right. Another machine hissed beside the bedside table. My head ached and I was disoriented. My eyes struggled to interpret the positions of hands on the clock hanging next to the bathroom door. I heard voices outside my room. I sat up in the hospital bed, the thin pillows crinkling underneath me as I shifted to try to hear. Something tickled the skin under my nose. A tube. I tried to move my hands to pull it away but when I looked at them, there were other tubes. Attached to needles. Protruding from my skin. I felt a tugging tightness as I moved my hands and my stomach slithered to my toes.

"Get them out," I whispered to the air. I could see where the sharp steel entered my veins. My breath shortened and a scream rose in my throat.

"Get them out," I said, louder this time.

"What?" asked a small voice, whose source I couldn't see.

"Get them out!" I screamed.

Bodies crowded the room; I could make out my father's face, frantic and paler then usual. "Calm down, Bella."

And then I saw my little sister, Anna, wide-eyed and scared. Dark spots blotted out the faces of eveyone else, and then all I could see were the forest of needles and tubes, and felt that tight sensation against my dry skin. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. But I could still move. I clawed at my arm with one hand and ripped out the first tube. The pain was violent. It gave me something to hold onto.

"Just breathe. It's okay. It's okay."

But it wasn't okay. They weren't listening to me, and they needed to get them out. I tried to tell them, but the darkness grew, swallowing the room.

"Bella?"

I blinked, but saw nothing. The beeping and hissing had stopped.

"Don't fight it, sweetie."

My eyelids fluttered at the sound of my mother's voice. She leaned over me, adjusting one of the pillows, and a sheet of light brown hair fell over her rose and cream skin. I tried to move, to get out of the way, but I could barely hold my head up. I glimpsed two dour-faced nurses behind her. One of them had a red welt on her cheek.

"What's wrong with me?" I whispered hoarsely. My lips felt like paper.

My mother, Renee, brused a sweaty strand of hair from my face. "They gave you something to help relax."

I breathed in. The tube under my nose was gone. And the ones from my hands, too. They were replaced by gausy white bandages wrapped around my skin. Spots of red bled through. Something released itself from my chest and a deep sigh shuddered from my lips. The room shifted into focus, now that the needles were out.

I looked at my father, sitting at the far wall, looking helpless. "What happened?" I asked hazily.

"You were in an accident, honey," my mother answered. My father, Charlie, met my eyes, but he didn't say anything. Mom was running this show.

My thoughts swam. An accident. When?

"Is the other driver-" I started, but couldn't finish.

"Not a car accident, Bella." My mother's voice was calm. Steady. It was her psychologist voice, I realized. "What's the last thing you remember?"

More than waking up in a hospital room, or seeing tubes attached to my skin-more than anything else-that question unnerved me. I stared at her closely for the first time. Her eyes were shadowed, and her nails, usually perfectly manicured, were ragged.

"What day is it?" I asked quietly.

"What day do you think it is?" My mother loved asking questions with questions.

I rubbed my hands over my face. My skin seemed to whisper on contact. "Wednesday?"

My mother looked at me carefully. "Sunday."

Sunday. I looked away from her, my eyes roaming the hospital room instead. I hadn't noticed the flowers before, but they were everywhere. A vaise of yellow roses were right beside my bed. Mine and Trevor's flower. A box of things of my things from the house sat in a chair next to the bed; an old cloth doll my grandmother had left to me when I was a baby lounged inside, resting its limp arm around the rim.

"What do you remember, Bella?"

"I had a history test Wednesday. I drove to dance, then to Trevor's and . . ."

I rifled through my thoughts, my memories. Me, walking into Trevors house. Setting my bag by the front door. Walking to his bedroom on the first floor. Running into his arms and giving him a kiss. Us going out on a date. Talking. Then us holding hands walking down the street smiling. Then . . . nothing.

A slow, creeping fear wound its way around my belly. "That's it," I told her, looking up at her face.

A muscle above my mother's eyelid twitched. "You were at The Tamerlane-" she started.

Oh god.

"The building collapsed. Someone reported it about three a.m. Thursday. When the police arrived, they heard you."

My father cleared his throat. "You were screaming."

My mother shot him a look before turning back to me. "They way the building fell, you were buried in a pocket of air, in the basement, but you were unconscious when they reached you. You might have fainted from dehydration, but it's possible that something fell and knocked you out. You do have a few bruises," she said, pushing aside my hair.

I looked past her, and saw her torso reflected in the mirror above the sink. I wondered what "a few bruises" looked like when a building fell on your head.

I pushed myself up. The silent nurses stiffened. They were acting more like guards.

My joints protested as I craned my head over the bed rails to see. My mother looked in the mirror with me. She was right; a bluish shadow blossomed over my right cheekbone. I pushed my dark brown hair back to see the extent of it, but that was it. Otherwise-I looked normal. Normal for me, and normal, period. My gaze shifted to my mother. We were so different. I had none to her exquisite features; not her perfect heart-shaped face or crystal blue eyes or her wavy light brown hair. Instead, my father's lose dark brown curly hair and emerald green eyes and oval face reflected in my own. And except for the bruse, I did not look like a building had collapsed on me at all. I narrowed my eyes at my reflection, then leaned back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

"The doctors said you've going to be fine." My mother smiled faintly. "You can go home tonight, even, if you feel well enough."

I lowered my gaze to the nurses. "Why are they here?" I asked my mother, staring right at them. They were creeping me out.

"They've been taking care of you since Wednesay," she said. She nodded to the nuse with the welt on her cheek. "This is Dona," she said, the indicated the other nurse. "And this is Kaitlyn."

Dona, the nurse with the welt on her cheek, smiled, but it wasn't warm. "You have some right hook."

My forehead crumpled. I looked at my mother.

"You panicked when you woke up before, and they had to be here when you woke up just in case you were . . . still disoriented."

"Happens all the time," Dona said. "And if you're feeling like yourself now, we can go."

I nodded, my throat dry. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

"No problem, sweetie," she said. Her words sounded fake. Kaitlyn hadn't said a word the whole time.

"Let us know if you need anything." They turned and walked synchronously out of the room, leaving me and my family alone.

I was glad they were gone. And then I realized that my reaction to them was probably not normal. I needed to focus on something else. My eyes swept the room, and finally landed on the bedside table, on the roses. They were fresh, unwilted. I wonder when Trevor brought them.

"Did he visit?"

My mother's face darkened. "Who?"

"Trevor."

My father made a strange noise and even my mother, my practiced, perfect mother, looked uncomforable.

"No," my mother said. "Those are from his parents."

Soemthing about the way she said it made me shiver. "Did he call?"

"No, Bella."

Her answer made me want to scream. I held out my arm instead. "Give me my phone. I want to call him."

My mother tried to smile but failed miserably. "Let's talk about this later, okay? You need to rest."

"I want to call him now." My voice was close to cracking. I was close to cracking.

My father could tell. "He was with you, Bella," he said.

No.

Something tightened around my chest and I could barley find the breath to speak. "Is he in the hospital?" I asked, because I had to, even though I knew the answer was in my parent's faces.

"He didn't make it," my mother said slowly.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Something slimy and horrible began to rise in my throat.

"How? How did he die?" I managed to ask.

"The building collapsed," my mother said camly.

"_How?_"

"It was an old building, Bella. You know this."

I couldn't speak. Of course I knew. My father moved home to Forks, Washington after police school, he'd represented the family of a boy who had been trapped inside the building. A boy who died. Emmett was forbidden from going there, not that my perfect older brother ever would. Not that _I_ ever would.

But for some reason, I had. With Trevor.

With Trevor. _Trevor._

I had a sudden image of Trevor walking boldly into the school freshman year, holding my hand. Of Trevor dancing with me in the ran next to his truck when it brokedown and we couldn't get to our sophmore homecoming.

My last memory of him was when I saw him in his room waiting for me after school.

He wore Chucks with holes worn through, no laces. Slim charcoal pants and a white button-down shirt covered his lean, athletic frame. His tie was loose, his cuffs undone, and his blazer in his left hand.

His strong jaw and chin were slightly scruffy, like he hadn't shaved for days, and his eyes looked gray in the shade. Strands of his dark chesnut hair struck out every wich way, as usual. Bedroom hair.

And he was smiling his crocked smile at me.

A hot tear fell down my cheek.

"What if-what if he was trapped, too?" I asked.

"Honey, no. They searched. They found-" My mother stopped.

"What?" I demanded, my voice shrill. "What did they find?"

She considered me. Studied me. She said nothing.

"They found . . . remains," she said vaguely. "He's gone, Maci. He didn't make it."

Remains. Peices, she means. A wave of nausea rocked my stomach. I wanted to gag. I stared at the yellow roses, then squeezed my eyes shut and searched for a memory, any memory, of that night. Why we went. What killed him. Tears fell down my cheeks.

"I want to know everything that happened."

"Bella-"

I recognized her placating tone and my fingers curled into fists around my sheets. She was trying to protect me but she was torturing me instead.

"You have to tell me," I begged, my throat filled with ash.

My mother looked at me with glassy eyes and a heartbroken face. "I would if I could, Bella. But you're the only one who knows."


End file.
